


Automaton

by Mary_the_gardener



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Death Wish, Depression, Heart Break, M/M, Sad, Sobby Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_the_gardener/pseuds/Mary_the_gardener
Summary: Javi closed the door to his room behind his shoulders.He didn't feel alive in the least. He felt dead.





	Automaton

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [even in the dark we will find a way out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379793) by [emilia_kaisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilia_kaisa/pseuds/emilia_kaisa). 

> This is inspired by that wonderful, sobby piece emilia_kaisa wrote, if you haven't read it yet, go do it!  
You can think of this as what happened after
>
>> [...] but Javi felt something cold settling inside his chest and spreading to his weak limbs, and it felt even worse than before, that terrible, dull ache reminding him that he had broken his own goddamn heart himself.
>> 
>> "I think I should go."
>> 
>> It hurt, to say that out loud, like swallowing down little pieces of glass, but Javi thought that it would be better, to be the one to walk away, to avoid the terrible morning that would wipe all illusions away. [...]  

> 
> What happened if Javi really did go, if they didn't understand each other or if maybe really Yuzu didn't feel anything. That's your choice... 

Javi closed the door to his room behind his shoulders.

Turned the light on.

And just stood there. Not taking a step inside, not leaning on the wood behind his shoulders.

He just stood.

With his body not tense nor relaxed, his back somehow straight, but his shoulders sagged.

He fixed his gaze on the bed standing in the middle of the room. But he didn't even see it.

He kept slowly breathing through is nose. But just because it was an automatic function of the body.

Of a living body.

He didn't feel alive in the least. He felt dead.

Dead because empty. That's what death is, right? Cessation of all senses.

He took a step on the carpet, then another, not caring about taking off his shoes.

Slowly, still maintaining that peculiar posture he made his way to the bed. Mechanically turned to sit on it, then lifted his legs, rotating his hips, and laid down, not bothering to move toward the center of the mattress.

He didn't close his eyes. He just stayed like that, staring at the white ceiling without quite seeing it.

He didn't know what to do.  
  
Not as in how to fix something. He just didn't know what to do. Should he wash his face, wash the two tears that had rolled down his eyes?

Put on his pyjamas? Should he turn off the light? Sleep?

He didn't feel like doing any of these things. He felt fine as he was.

Fine.

Fine wasn't the right word. But he felt devoid of needs. What could he need? Nothing. Nothing he could have at least.  
  
His mind was blank.

He had lied.

He had one want.

He wanted to cease to exist.

How pretty could it be? To snap your fingers and puff! You are no more, dissolved into air, only a faint shower of ephemeral dust left behind for a couple of seconds.

And you don't have to feel or think anymore. You don't have to see people. Talk to people, get hurt by people...

People.

How was he going to face people till the end of the show?

  
  
He knew he was supposed to sleep. Sleep, wake up, get dressed, go to practice in the morning.  
  
Instead he couldn't even bother to move his arm to see what time it was now.

He had no idea. But he didn't care.

  
Or he did care.

He couldn't decide. Part of him, the part that knew he couldn't snap his fingers and disappear from the universe, knew he had to see till the end of the show, and just wished it over as soon as possible. That part hoped hours flied away fast. But the rest of him, the part that was already feeling dead, detached from all material and human things, the part that was starting to prevail, that part didn't care at all. What was time when you are into an endless white void?

Nothing. It does lose all its meanings. What does it matter if the night is almost over or if dawn is still due a couple of hours?

It doesn't matter.

Javi didn't want it to matter.

Eventually he got up, urged by the physical pain of his need to pee.

As he walked toward the bathroom, he felt as if that wasn't even his body. He didn't feel like himself. Who, what was he anymore?  
  
Did he wish he could be somebody else, someone else from Javier the man who just got his heart broken? He didn't. No, he didn't. He had no wishes anymore. The last one had died that night.

Eventually he kicked off his shoes, got under the covers with the same clothes he had worn while sitting at that restaurant table a few hours before, still full of mixed dread and hope.

He turned on his side, closed his eyes. It didn't feel any different from keeping them open.

He felt equally void. His whole body refusing the inputs brought in by his senses.

Eventually he noticed that the day arrived. Did it matter? It didn't.

He finally closed his eyes, for the first time in hours willing to do something: lay in his bed all the way through practice. A nice nap was the perfect thing.

Nice? What was nice? How did nice felt? Javi felt like he didn't know anymore. He knew nothing. Didn't want to know.

Maybe in a few hours someone of the staff would come look for him. Maybe thye would require him to do something, give him some orders, push some buttons and get him to move like a robot.

Because that was how Javi felt. An empty shell. An automaton.


End file.
